


This Place Surely Knows Patience

by Ornament_of_Rhyme



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, That is to say Neil is dead., This could easily be a sequel to The Great Man but it isn't intended to be.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-24 11:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ornament_of_Rhyme/pseuds/Ornament_of_Rhyme
Summary: At the tail-end of his senior year, Todd is finally called back to the old indian cave, where he discovers that someone has been forgotten.





	This Place Surely Knows Patience

At the tail-end of his senior year, Todd is called back to the old indian cave. By now, he has made his peace with the school grounds. He has bid farewell to the bookstacks and breezeways; said goodbye to the docks and the room he used to share with a great young man. It is a sense that someone is calling to him that finally draws him into the woods. He knows no one waits there, but he heeds it anyway.  
  
He and the others have avoided the cave for more than a year since Neil's passing, so it's a wonder his feet still know the path when all he can think of is the lonely shush of their tread as he steps through the undergrowth.  
  
Swollen by the springtime rain showers, the creek has bubbled up higher than he ever saw during the season of the Dead Poets Society. He stares into it blindly, keenly aware of the outcropping of rock looming behind him.  
  
As he stalls, he wonders. Some things he's contemplated a thousand times, while others are developing only now.  
  
Not that it existed, Todd thinks at some point, but if a spirit of the cave _had_ been calling out to him, how disappointed would it feel to learn only Todd has returned to say goodbye?

In fact, has Todd been the only one to return, or have the other boys felt its pull? He casts a net through his recent memories, searching for tells that one of the others may have gone for a walk alone, but quickly gives it up as a lost cause. He's been so wrapped up in his musings lately that many of the goings-on in his friends' lives have slipped his notice.  
  
The hypnotizing flow of water lends itself to focusing his thoughts deeper inward, and his mind trundles along until he's imagining himself stepping into the cave, only to be greeted by a golden spirit. It asks him why it has been abandoned.  
  
Suddenly, Todd wrenches away from the vision. There is no spirit, he thinks as he finally turns to the mouth of the cave, but the imaginary specter reminded him that something has indeed been forgotten.  
  
Determination spurs him forward, into the dim maw of stone. Only a few feet inside, he marches into a cobweb, but when he spots the statue at the back of the cave, he doesn't spare a moment to check if a spider has clung to him.  
  
Set in its own little alcove is a battered ceramic statue. A colonial drummer in blue. Chipped and scratched, and dirty and ugly—and it startles a laugh from Todd when he imagines Neil snagging it from some old man's trash; so determined to incorporate it into the Society that even as he biked back to Welton, he tolerated its long, awkward form bulging under his jacket, and the ragged lampshade batting at his cheek.  
  
He drinks it in, then the rest of the cave. For once he's alone here, yet it feels so much smaller than it ever did with all of the boys cramped together, knocking knees and nearly poking out eyeballs whenever someone's hand gestures became too enthusiastic.  
  
Todd's eyes eventually trail back to the statue.  
  
He won't take it with him. Can't. As soon as it leaves the cave, it will cease to be anything more than a piece of junk. He doesn't need it as a reminder of the Society. He'll never forget this place, or the meetings. He doubts anything will leave an imprint on his memory quite like the Dead Poets Society and the friends it gave him.  
  
...Imprint...  
  
After a minute of checking his pockets, Todd produces the key to the cash box he keeps in the back of his sock drawer. It's small and thinner than the average key, and works well when he carves into the statue's tin base.  


_I AM THE GOD OF THE_  
_DEAD POETS SOCIETY_  
  
_CARPE DIEM_  


He brushes away the swarf of paint and metal, letting it blend into the cold cinders of the fire pit beneath his shoes. When he returns the statue to its shrine, it seems to stand taller. Braver. Or perhaps Todd is projecting.

One more look around, and he turns away. His fingertips trail along the wall as he leaves, and neither god nor spirit cry out to him.


End file.
